


Bad Seed (The Dragons Teeth Ate My Baby Remix)

by igrockspock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luna would never tell Neville to plant something dangerous in his garden...would she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Seed (The Dragons Teeth Ate My Baby Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinkatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Weather It All](https://archiveofourown.org/works/60131) by [thinkatory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkatory/pseuds/thinkatory). 



Luna finds the Room of Requirement by accident, just like everyone else. Pansy Parkinson had tripped her right at the entrance to the Great Hall _again_ , and the whole Slytherin table had laughed. Of course, she'd pretended not to mind, but now here she is, pacing in the corridor and wishing there were some place she could get lost, some place where no one would ever find her.

And then the door appears. Luna smiles and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Really, she ought to have known this would happen. The castle is her friend, even when no one inside it is. She pulls on the door, and it glides open silently even though the wood looks ancient and the big brass knob is heavy in her hand. When she steps inside, it swings shut behind her. 

Luna stares in awe. Stack of books and parchment stretch toward a ceiling she can't see. A battered cabinet, its door hanging by a single hinge, gapes in front of her. Deflated balls litter the floor next to yellowed packets of wet-start fireworks. A skeleton of an improbably large fish rests on a flying carpet hovering lazily in the air. She takes a step forward, and Filch's list of prohibited objects crunches beneath her feet. Then she understands what she's found: a room of lost and hidden things.

"Thank you," she whispers, gazing up at the invisible ceiling. Then she shakes her head. This place has the _worst_ Nargle infestation she's ever seen. Time to get cleaning.

She finds the seed packet in the bottom of a broken chest of drawers. It's so nondescript she almost overlooks it -- just an envelope of yellow parchment, frayed about the edges, with a little bulge in one corner to indicate that something's inside. When the seeds tumble out into her hand, she gasps. She knows exactly what they are: dragon's teeth. They're perfect and triangular, pearlescent even in the dull light. She curls her palm around them, unwilling to take the chance that one of them might tumble out. _This_ must be why she had come here. Everyone claimed dragon's teeth were a myth, just like nargles and wrackspurts and crumple-horned snorcacks. With these, she could prove that stories really did come true, and Luna Lovegood wasn't so loony after all.

"I'll find you a home," she whispers to the seeds in her palm. When she uncurls her hand, she sees their sharp points have dug into her flesh, coating their gleaming surface with droplets of blood. As she watches, the blood sinks into the seeds, and she thinks she hears a faint voice whisper _thank you_ in the back of her mind.

She sleeps with the seeds in a pouch around her neck and dreams of warriors rising from the earth.

***

Summer hols have started, and Luna still hasn't found a home for her seeds. Of course, the ideal would be to raise them herself, but she'd rather gone off gardening when Mum had died. The Lovegoods' backyard is a wild tangle of weeds, wildflowers, and magical herbs -- a beautiful tribute to her mother, Dad always said, but not ideal for raising rare and fickle blossoms. Instead Luna settles for feeding them drops of blood, just enough to keep them alive and whispering in her dreams.

"Do you think everything that drinks blood is evil?" she asks her father one night at dinner. She had only told Ginny Weasley about the seeds, and she had looked at her askance and muttered something about an evil diary.

Her father frowns, wiping up leftover sauce with a slice of bread. "I shouldn't think so, darling. Everything needs sustenance, after all. Mosquitos are hardly evil, I should say."

Luna nods, satisfied. Of course, she'd read about dragon's teeth, and the few tomes who took their existence seriously hadn't been fond of them. But that was the world -- always judging what it didn't understand.

"Do you think plants can talk to you?" she asks, and her father beams.

"Your mum would certainly say so. Are you thinking of growing something special?"

Luna shakes her head. "Not me, no. I'm not so talented in the garden. But I may ask a friend to plant something for me."

"That must be a special friend," her father says, smiling faintly. He waves his wand, and their dirty dinner plates zoom toward the kitchen sink. "Of course, one ought to be careful with a plant that drinks blood, but I trust your judgment."

The seeds don't whisper in her dreams that night. They howl.

***

The Longbottoms don't live particularly close to Luna, but since the dragons teeth started howling, she's been walking sun up to sun down, looking for their home. That's how she finds herself standing behind the Longbottoms' hedge, listening to voices drifting across the lawn.

"How precious, Herbology is a very useful discipline -- "

" -- always said that if you can work with your hands you're capable of anything -- "

"I was so happy when he took up gardening. Such a perfect skill for someone of his temperament," a louder, stronger voice says. That's Augusta Longbottom, Luna knows. She must be having one of her teas with her friends. Luna's gran had gone a few times, until she'd decided the old biddies were terribly unimaginative. 

And of course, they're talking about Neville. Luna peers through the hedge and sees him crouched at the edge of a flowerbed. He's pulling a Flutterby from a pot, and it quivers in his hand. When he begins to hum an old tune -- "You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me," a Celestina Warback son Luna's mother had loved -- the leaves go quiet and still.

In the pouch around Luna's neck, the dragons teeth start singing.

Neville's on the second verse of the song when Luna slips through a gap in the hedge and flops down beside him in the grass.

"Hello, Neville," she says, but she's not really looking at him. She's studying the patch of fresh earth in the garden.

"'Lo, Luna," he murmurs, staring at the garden too. "I was hoping you might come around this summer."

Luna feels heat rise to her cheeks. Not many people are excited to see her. "I should have come sooner," she says. The seeds around her neck hum in agreement, and she wonders if Neville hears them, but he doesn't look up. Their life is her secret, at least for now.

"Are you planting flutterbies?" she asks, looking at the pots around her. “Because I have something more interesting than that. You can have them, if you like.”

Her voice comes out a little high and breathless, and Neville looks at her askance. “What is it, exactly?” he asks, running his fingers through the freshly turned earth.

“Dragons teeth.” She unties the pouch from around her neck while Neville’s looking at the garden. The old women inside are watching them and Luna lowers her voice conspiratorially. “You can plant them today if you want.”

“Dragonsteeth are mythical,” Neville says. He’s reaching for a Flutterby pot, and Luna stills his hand. His face goes red.

“Neville Longbottom, nothing is mythical, except maybe a few things!” she chides in a voice loud enough for the witches inside to hear. They crane their necks toward the garden, and Luna lowers her voice. “I promise, no harm will come to your garden. It likes you too much.” She slips off her sandals and presses her bare feet into the earth. “You can make anything grow, I’m sure of it.”

At that, Neville smiles and Luna feels a strange rush. She’s often let other people dictate her choices; she’d never known she could persuade someone to do what _she_ wanted. Maybe that’s what the warrior dreams were for. Kneeling before the garden, she traces her fingers along the dirt until she hears the dragons teeth sing.

“Here,” she says. “This is where they’d like to grow.”

“Isn’t that a bit small?” Neville asks, eyeing the plot. “There wouldn’t be room for big plants like that.”

“Oh, every warrior will find its own space. We all do, don’t we?” Luna asks, shrugging. At that, Neville knits his brow and Luna worries she’s lost her edge. She shouldn’t have mentioned the warriors; not everyone is ready for that. “Um, every plant, I mean. Seeds don’t grow into soldiers. Everyone knows that, right?” She chuckles nervously, and Neville looks mollified.

Determined to press her advantage, she drops a few of the seeds into his hand, and Neville catches his breath. Their eyes meet, and Neville murmurs, “They match the description in the old books exactly. Where did you find these?”

Luna licks her lips; she hadn’t prepared for that question, and she can’t risk the seeds’ safety now, when they’re practically purring in the back of her mind. “I found them in my mother’s things,” she blurts. “I’ve been looking for a place to plant them for ages, and then I thought about you and your garden.” She smiles. “You _are_ curious, I can tell.”

Neville grins. “Alright, maybe a little.” He presses the first of the seeds into the earth.

Luna leans back and tilts her head toward the sky, letting the tips of her hair brush the grass. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise. We’ll take loads of notes, of course. We’ll be the first to see them since Ashley Weatherton, and he didn’t get to write much before they ate him.”

Neville’s head snaps up from the spot where he’d just planted the last seed. “Ah, Luna, do you seriously mean --”

Luna smiles up at the sun. “Don’t worry, Neville. I told you, this garden loves you far too much. The dragon’s teeth would never eat _you_.”

***

When Neville wakes up in the morning, the dragon’s teeth have already sprouted. He thinks he sees Luna staring at them from behind the hedge, but no, that's surely his imagination. After he makes his rounds, trimming back weeds and pruning old blossoms, he ducks back into the house for a ruler and a bit of parchment. He does intend to take lots of notes about the dragons teeth -- for science, of course. And if they gave him something to discuss with Luna, well, what was the harm in that?

Within a week, the dragons teeth are waist high. Their scarlet blossoms overshadow the rest of the garden, and for the life of him, Neville can't figure out how they can grow so thickly and stay alive. Parchment in hand, he wades in between them. The air shimmers as if he's crossed some sort of barrier, and the ground shifts under his feet. When he looks down, their patch of earth has suddenly doubled. It's like his whole flower bed is like his gran's magic trunk -- bigger inside than out. Of course, _he_ hadn't enchanted this space; he's not nearly so good at charms. He bends closer to look at one of the flowers. It looks back, and then it strokes his face.

"Gyah!" Neville screams, and stumbles out of the flowerbed. Gran's friends are over for tea, and they're all staring at him, teacups paused halfway to their mouths. Neville manages a watery grin, but when he turns around, he stumbles straight into Luna Lovegood and emits another manly shriek. He tries to cover it by clearing his throat, though by the way Luna's looking at him, he doubts she's fooled.

"I- ah-- didn't expect to see you here," he manages. He can feel his cheeks turning red. He doesn't mean for Luna to think she isn't welcome, but he's not sure how to say that.

Luna doesn't look phased by his awkward greeting. "I came to see the dragons teeth," she says. "They like you. They told me. Do you like them?"

"I'm not sure," Neville says. He doesn't mind friendly flowers, of course, but there's something _wrong_ about how quickly they've grown and the mysterious enchantment around them. "They're a bit unnerving," he says finally.

Luna shrugs her shoulders. "Yes, I suppose so. Most interesting things are."

***

When the dragons teeth are as tall as he is, Neville decides he ought to transplant them to the back of the garden, where they can’t block the other plants’ light. They don’t like that decision very much. In retrospect, he ought to have realized they can breathe fire. On the bright side, he manages to repair most of the lawn before Gran gets home, and none of her friends notice he's missing an eyebrow.

Neville spends the afternoon working on the back hedge, giving the dragons teeth a wide berth and planning some very strong words for Luna when she next turns up. Gran and her friends are having tea again. Snatches of their conversation drift across the lawn, and the sun is warm on the back of his neck. It would be a lovely day, if not for the faint sulfur smell emanating from the dragons teeth or the niggling worry that the back of his garden is turning into a briar patch right out of a fairy story. The dragons teeth won't let him near it.

Jonquilene Vance makes him sit down for tea when he comes in.

"You're looking so much older, dear," she murmurs. "Who would have guessed you'd grow so tall?"

"And all that baby fat gone, just melted away," says another of his gran's friends, pinching his cheek. "I always said he'd grow up to be a handsome boy, didn't I, Augusta?"

"Nothing like...well...whoever it is that's up to mischief in the neighborhood," Mrs. Vance says, frowning into her teacup.

"Mischief?" Neville asks, grateful for a chance to steer the conversation away from his baby fat.

"Oh yes, didn't you hear?" Mrs. Vance's eyes light up. "Half the cats in the neighborhood are missing. Owls too. Like something snatched them up and ate them in the night."

From the corner of his eye, Neville sees the dragons teeth turn slowly toward the window.

Mrs. Vance doesn't make it to Gran's next tea.

***

_The Great Book of Plants Most Ancient_ is very specific about dragons teeth: they drink blood, and then they grow into an army.

Neville's not a man for profanity, but if he were, he'd have some choice words right about now. What had Luna said the day they planted the seeds? _Every warrior finds his own space._ He'd blown it off as another of eccentricities, but now... No. Neville shakes his head. It's midnight, and his imagination is getting the better of him. He'll go downstairs for a glass of water and a careful look at the plants, and then he'll come up with a rational explanation.

He stands at the kitchen window, pondering how he'll tell Luna he doesn't want her flowers, when a flock of birds soars overhead. One of them dips low in the sky, and then it's gone. Neville squints at the dragons teeth in the moonlight. He sees feathers drifting toward the earth, and then one of the scarlet blossoms gives a small, fiery belch.

Neville's jaw clenches. He's getting his garden back. Tonight.

***

Gran's broom jumps into his hand on the first try. _That's never happened before_ , he thinks, staring at the knobby wooden handle in his hand. Maybe that's why it takes off suddenly, forcing him to stifle a surprised squeak. It bucks beneath him, and he tightens his legs around it, leaning into the wind. He's concentrating so hard on flying that it's a shock when he sees the Burrow over the top of the hill. He'd thought he'd have longer to come up with a non-suspicious way to ask Arthur Weasley for the use of his flamethrower.

Fred and George are sitting at a picnic table in the backyard, lazily transfiguring a ball of smoke into animal shapes, but they stop to stare when Neville touches down. Neville isn't exactly a stranger to the Burrow; he'd spent a lot of time here back when Gran had thought he was a squib. Arthur Weasley had shown him all sorts of Muggle inventions and promised him that their lives could be just as good without magic, and Neville had hung onto every word. That was how he'd known about the flamethrower. Still, he imagines that he must make a strange sight, drifting into the Weasleys' yard in his pajamas and house slippers and clutching Gran's ancient broom.

"Good thing you're here," Neville says, walking toward the picnic table with what he hopes is nonchalance. "I need your father's flamethrower."

Fred and George grin.

***

The first rays of dawn are piercing the sky when the last of the dragons teeth are turned to ashes. Neville's face is covered with soot and the hems of his trousers are singed, but Gran's broom is undamaged, so he reckons he'll live to see another day. A pale hand emerges from the soil, and when Neville tugs with all his might, he pulls Jonquilene Vance free, looking dusty but otherwise whole.

In the kitchen, he leaves his slippers by the matt so he won't dirty Gran's white tile floors. She's coming downstairs, tying her dressing gown about her waist, when she catches sight of Neville.

"Great Merlin, boy, what have you been up to?" she asks, looking more stern than worried.

Neville manages _not_ to quiver under her glare for once. "I got my garden back," he says, setting the flamethrower on the floor with a hollow clink. He looks toward Mrs. Vance, who's sitting at their kitchen table, looking confused. "I think your friend could use a cuppa."

Neville's eyes are heavy, and he pushes past his gran, ignoring her incredulous stare. He's going to sleep for a day, and then he's going to find out what to do when the girl you like is possessed by evil plants.


End file.
